


a perfect sort of getting along

by zarlish_dragons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: General Awkwardness, Multi, a kiss on the lips, some Letters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2019-11-24 05:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarlish_dragons/pseuds/zarlish_dragons
Summary: Charlie and Harry are declared soulmates, which puts an unpredictable twist on Harry’s life and responsibilities that for now mostly centre around Voldemort and his loved ones at school and at the Burrow. Harry makes mistakes, Charlie makes mistakes, but that’s okay.Okay I’m gonna be totally real with you guys. This is gonna be fluffy and emotional and ahh. I’m not that great of a writer and I tend to put too much of my personal emotion into my words, but bear with me. That is definitely not how you spell bear in this case, but what the fuck I like it.





	1. two instances

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly gay/figuring things out. Homophobic? Fuck off. I'm sorry if that's unfair, but please, not here.
> 
> disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter characters or world and I know Charlie does not show up in, like, any of these instances but it's working for my story so oh well
> 
> Also like previously mentioned, eight year age ago be damned

**"There are moments, when you're getting to know someone, when you realize something deep and buried in you is deep and buried in them, too. It feels like meeting a stranger you've known your whole life."**

**-Leah Raeder**

The first time Charlie Weasley saw Harry Potter, it was a byproduct of picking up an illegal dragon. Henry, one of his helpers, had just told a particularly amusing joke and as a result they were all roaring with laughter with tears in their eyes as the Astronomy Tower came into view. 

He and Mai, another tamer and possibly his second best friend next to Tonks, were sober enough by the time they were hovering outside of the tower to land their brooms appropriately and clamber inside as silently as they could. 

They succeeded in getting into the tower, silently, not so much. Mai immediately went to the dragon and began to coo softly at it, whilst calling Hudson and Henry to the large opening to secure the large box that Norbert was being held in. Henry and the other man offered up their harnesses so that she could secure those corners first, then dragged her and Charlie’s brooms over to bind the other two. 

Meanwhile, Charlie went over to where Hermione and Harry stood watching the process with interest. He shook each of their hands in turn, and thanked them for turning in the dragon and agreeing to meet them there. 

Charlie did notice something odd, however. When he had shaken the black haired boy’s hand, instead of him smiling warily like the bushy haired girl beside him, he had winced ever so slightly. So subtly, in fact, that Charlie nearly missed it. Only years of concealing his own pain and injuries from his mother made him able to tell. 

His smile didn’t falter, however. He shot a last cocky grin to the two of them and went to go join the three other impatient dragon tamers. The last thing he saw as the four of them took to the sky was the bright glint of moonlight on Harry Potter’s glasses. 

* * *  


The next time the two opposite boys met, it was under much more normal circumstances. At least for Charlie. It was a year later, about a fortnight until term started (well for six Weasleys anyway).

It was not meant to be a big visit, simply one to see his family; it was a year since he’d visited on terms other than Christmas dinner. Even then he had left two days after. He had gone hoping for a week full of his mother’s excellent cooking, small quidditch games with his brothers, and of course to see his only sister. He’d incorporate his father in there somehow, he had thought to himself laughing. 

His room was also a plus. Over the years it had gathered dust and a neglected feel to it as neither he nor Bill had come to stay in the last seven months or so. The bedroom looked like it had been frozen in time though. His posters of moving players advertising various teams still hung on the walls. Pictures of cursed landmarks and objects and various egyptian curse books were scattered messily around Bill’s bed, models and posters of dragons on Charlie’s. His old dragon leather gloves were still on the small table that he and Bill shared, one of the thumbs nearly hanging by a thread. The chipped blue water pitcher that used to be on the table was still there as well. Everything was going to be perfect; certainly no surprises were to be expected. 

This is why he was pleasantly amused on the third day of his visit when he woke up the crack of dawn to the angry shrieks of Molly Weasley. The twins had been looking especially shifty the day before, this was probably the reason for his anger. 

Fumbling for clean jeans and a t-shirt, he quickly dressed, glancing forlornly at Bill’s empty bed beside his own. He knew the oldest Weasley brother had a kind of gift for calming their mother down. Quickly brushing back his chin-length hair whilst adjusting his shirt, he walked out to the front yard to see what had gotten Molly’s knickers in a twist this time. 

Charlie rapidly panned the situation and snorted when he took in the twins, Ron, and Harry’s slightly sheepish looks that seemed to still be competing with a rush of adrenaline for whatever they had just done. 

Mrs Weasley was still yelling, but losing steam. Charlie sighed and walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear to wait until father woke up. She huffed and threw a last malevolent look over her shoulder that could have withered grass, and watched in satisfaction as all four boys winced.

He watched her back retreat into the house and started in himself.

“Dont think shes forgotten!” Charlie yelled over his shoulder. “She’s just waiting for reinforcements. Then she’ll pounce.” 

* * *  


And pounce she did. After Round 2 of Getting-mad-because-you-left-the-house-with-no-note-and-took-the-car-with-you yelling had subsided, breakfast was continued as normal, with the slight exception of when George asked his mother to pass the salt and she gave him such a glare he lost all interest in it and ate his eggs unseasoned.

Other than that, Molly warmed considerably. She made small talk to most of the table and hovered over Harry the entire time, making sure he was perfectly content. Even Percy came down to shake Harry’s hand before stealing some kippers and bacon and retreating back to his room. 

Perhaps most surprising of all was the appearance of Ginny Weasley, of course blushing profusely the entire time. After her bowl of porridge’s third attempt at dying, she made her excuses and bolted up the staircase stealing one last fleeting look at Harry Potter. 

By then, the whole family was chuckling save for a disapproving Molly Weasley and the Boy Who Lived himself whose face was a red to rival Ginny’s. Charlie just clapped him on the shoulder and laughed hardest of all. The small action caused Harry's stomach to drop. He ignored it. Probably just the sheer feeling of being clapped by someone who barely knew their own strength, he thought bemused. 

Soon, the plates were cleared away and Ron challenged them to a game of quidditch on the small meadow by the hill Harry was the first to respond, nearly jumping up from the table in joy. 

Ron, the twins, Harry, and Charlie grabbed their brooms and began the few minutes’ time walk to the field. They laughed and joked the whole way, pushing each other playfully. Harry was reminded of a question he had thought of when Ron had told him Charlie’s age the last year.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?” the second oldest Weasley glanced at him warily. “What is it?”

“How come you left Hogwarts in the sixth year?”

Charlie laughed. “Oh that’s easy,” he said, “I knew I wanted to pursue dragons and when I was offered a position at the reserve at 16, I saw no point in continuing my other education. Also, I was dumb.” he laughed a bit.

“So, all brawns and no brain?” Harry said without thinking. He heard Ron yell something indistinct. “Oh, bloody hell, I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, covering his mouth with his free hand. 

Charlie was silent for a minute and then: “I’ll prove it to you,” without any further warning he shouldered his broom and swept a confused Harry Potter onto his other shoulder in a fireman’s lift and, laughing, he raced the other three boys to the top of the hill. He stopped there, tilted his head back and rolled his shoulder a bit to get closer to Harry’s ear with his mouth. 

“This is what you get for cheek,” he whispered jokingly into Harry’s red ear. Harry didn’t reply. He didn’t trust himself to. The others soon caught up, and Ron nearly gasping with laughter stumbled drunkenly to Charlie and told him to “pudimdow”. 

“Sorry, I didn’t get that,” Charlie smirked, shifting his shoulder to get a better grip on Harry.

“You know what the protocol is for Weasley cheek,”

“Come on Charlie, you barely know Harry, how do you think he’s responding to this?” Ron frowned, he and his brothers knew that even of they wanted to, they couldn’t get Harry down. Charlie had magic and giant muscles on his side.

“Oh all right,” Charlie huffed. He gently flipped Harry upside again one-handed and set him down on his feet. The boy in question swayed alarmingly, thrown by the sudden rush of blood leaving his head. 

“Easy there,” Charlie mumbled, putting a hand on Harry’s back to steady him. 

“What’do that for?” Harry asked, looking at him. To his surprise, one of the twins spoke. Fred? 

“After Charlie here came back from Romania, he had these new additions,” (he smirked, gesturing at Charlie’s obvious fitness) “and dad said the same thing that you did to him. If you’ll believe me, he picked Dad right up over his shoulder and dumped him down on the couch, laughing the whole time.” Fred was beginning to smile now, “Since then, well, you obviously know,” he smirked again.

Harry nodded and grabbed his still warm broom that was still on Charlie’s shoulder with his broom and went to join Ron who was already halfway down the hill. 

“Your family always like this?” he muttered. 

“Afraid so,” Ron responded with a laugh. “Although, that’s just Charlie’s quirk. Except for that, which he still finds reason to do every once in a while, he’s a very easy going guy. Certainly the most in our family,” he added as an afterthought. “You just said the wrong thing is all.”

“Did I ever,” Harry groaned. Ron chuckled but made no comment. 

Several minutes later, two teams had been established, George and Harry against Ron and Charlie, Fred preferring to be a lone beater with a flower Charlie had bewitched to act like a bludger. George and Ron were chasers with Charlie and Harry although the latter were also playing seeker at the same time. 

With a sharp whistle on George’s part, the five pushed, hard, off the ground and took to the air. After a couple dozen games of Harry catching the snitch about the same number of times as Charlie, they both agreed their skills were hindered by their extra playing duties. 

All five of them lay down in the grass heaving with breaths and barely five minutes later Ron asked to try Harry nodded to him for the okay and watched in amusement as the twins and Charlie took turns with Ron with the broom, laughing along with the others when Fred nearly collided with a stray robin. He soon joined in, and after nearly half an hour, the five gasping boys collapsed onto the hill sitting in comfortable silence.

“Merlin am I starving,” George complained, to the agreement of Ron’s stomach. “I can almost smell the sandwich waiting for me,” Fred sighed. 

“Erm, actually, is it alright if I borrow your snitch for just a little while longer?” Harry asked tentatively, not quite ready to stop flying. 

“S’okay with you, Charlie?” Ron asked, looking over at his older brother who was laying on his back. 

“Yeah yeah. In fact, mind if I join you, Harry?” he sat up, causing his hair to fall haphazardly around his face. He impatiently blew them away, and looked sideways at Harry, who was watching the bright red strands with interest. 

“Harry?” Fred prompted.

“Oh right, sure, if you feel like losing,” Harry grinned. Charlie threw his head back and roared with laughter. Harry noticed how Charlie’s neck was exposed when he laughed. It was a rather nice neck too, Harry thought to himself, he wondered what it would taste like... he blinked. Woah. Where had that come from?

Shaking himself mentally, he he helped pull up the twins, though regretted the actions almost instantly when both took it upon themselves to kiss Harry on the cheek ‘for all his troubles’. 

“Come on you too, Harry’ll think it’s you two who’s bent and not Charlie,” Ron laughed and and shoved them down the hill, throwing their brooms after them. “Sorry Harry!” and with that he was gone, leaving Harry alone with his own very conflicted and confused thoughts, and an overly amused Charlie Weasley.

“You’re…?” Harry said weakly, turning to the other boy.

“Gay?” he said, now smiling even wider, “I should hope so, otherwise I’ll have to apologize to all my exes for dating them on false orientation assumptions.” he took in Harry’s expression and sighed. “What are you thinking? If you think I’m gonna jump you or something ‘cause you’re a readily available boy and we’re alone… squash that thought. I have a boyfriend.” Harry smiled.

“Too bad, I really thought we had hit it off there for a second…” he trailed off, grinning at Charlie. He looked… annoyed? “Look kid, I’ve got maybe three quarters of an hour before I need food. We gonna play, or what?”

Harry blinked. What had he done? They were fine one second, the next they were practically glaring at each other. “All right then,” he said just as cooly, “try to keep up.” 

He mounted his broom and pushed off the ground. Their indifference was quickly forgotten though, when they started flying. The cold wind stung their faces as they flew, soon falling into an easy rhythm, both looking for the snitch, after ten minutes of flying in silence, Harry spotted the snitch and dove for it, rolling out of it gracefully. He stuck it into his pocket and looked for  
Charlie, who was hovering in the air, clearly waiting for him to release the snitch again. 

Harry flew over and awkwardly hovered, wondering where to begin. He was saved the trouble. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. I over- reacted. I just… what I said about the jumping thing, I interpreted your expression that way. I’m so sick of having to remind people that just because I’m bent doesn’t mean I’ll do any boy. Especially not my little brother’s twelve year old best friend,” he snorted. Harry let out a relieved breath, but felt a weird twinge of hurt. “I know you wouldn’t I was just surprised, is all. Are we good?” “We’re good,” Charlie laughed, leaning over the two brooms to hug Harry, ignoring the outstretched hand. Harry let out an indignant squeak. “You’re right,” Charlie agreed, nodding, “next time we’ll just shake. You smell bad.”

He laughed again at Harry’s amused expression and pointed to the boy’s pocket. “Are we playing… or….?” Harry shook himself. “Yeah,” he grinned and took out the snitch. “At twenty seconds.”

They waited patiently for a few seconds, before Harry suddenly blurted, "wait!" 

"Yeah?" Charlie looked back at him, an eyebrow raised.

Harry swallowed thickly and nearly whispered, "How did you... how...?" He trailed off.

"Know I was gay?" Charlie asked, surprised. Harry nodded. The other boy just shrugged. He began slowly, choosing his words carefully. 

"When you're young, you don't really know it's even possible to like the same gender. You don't actually seek out the other gender, either. When I was little, I never got into girls, but, of course, I never looked at the boys because I just... didn't know I could." He swallowed. "In fourth... in fourth year there was this boy, who I couldn't stop looking at. I wanted to be a part of his life, to talk to him, to have him look at me the way I had seen some couples do. Like I had hung the sun.” He paused, thought. 

“He moved away. But I never forgot the feeling. The feeling that I just never had for girls, I guess." He looked at Harry sideways and cocked his head. "There's no hurry," he whispered. “Everyone goes at their own pace, and whatever you find out about yourself is perfectly okay.”

Clearing his throat, he looked pointedly at the snitch in Harry's hand. "At twenty." 

He didn't give Harry a chance to respond, but the other boy just looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding.

He released the small golden ball and they watched as it hesitated for a moment then flitted off. They counted mentally to twenty and took off after it. Harry felt himself being pushed to his limits; Charlie was just that good. He attempted harder moves, getting riskier and riskier. 

The snitch flew directly next to his ear. Without thinking, he served and chased after it. He could see Charlie zooming in from the side to intercept, and he instinctively leaned forward, flattening himself onto his broom. They both reached forward, hands outstretched perfectly even because of Charlie’s stocky stature and Harry’s long one. They were so close… Harry’s broom gave one last burst of speed and his fingers closed around the tiny ball. 

He heard Charlie swear soundly behind him, and he turned around, hovering slightly above him, smirking. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked cheekily. His smile faltered when the boy made no sound or move, simply stared at him. Then Charlie laughed. “You’ve got nerve kid, I’ll give you that. Come on, let’s go. Lunch is waiting.”

The two boys set off together, never letting a single minute escape to the dark claws of silence. Their laughter could be heard down at the Burrow; the wind was just so, and they were being too loud anyway. They decided they didn’t care.

* * *

As Harry lay in bed that night, he ran over the events of the afternoon in his mind. It had been fun, spending time with Charlie. The older boy intrigued him. Not that they had been best buds, of course. They had gone their separate ways once at the Burrow and neither of them had done anything to change that. Harry had gone back to Ron, and Charlie went to go harass Percy with the twins. 

As he lie awake, though, he kept going back to a few incidents that made no sense as to why he would be thinking about them. 

The first was when the red-haired boy had slung him over his shoulder carelessly, as if he picked up near strangers all the time. What scared Harry the most was how much he like it. He had enjoyed the feel of the warm man beneath him. Charlie’s soft hair had been in his face, but instead of being annoyed, he had felt far from it. He like how the little strands tickled his stomach ever so softly from where his shirt rode up a bit. Most of all, he had liked the feel of Charlie’s back and shoulder muscles working beneath him. He was just so strong. 

The other incident that had come to mind was a very different one. It was when Charlie had confirmed he was gay. When Charlie had misinterpreted Harry’s expression, Harry had felt something inside him nearly shatter. That was the opposite of what Harry was thinking. In reality he had been thinking about how what Charlie’s orientation was, the way he described it, it sounded a lot like… him.

* * *

Charlie didn’t go to sleep for a very, very, long time. He ran the day’s events over in his head again, snorting particularly hard whenever the boys’ struck faces came to mind. However, it was becoming increasingly hard to focus on small mundane moments like that. A few particular memories hovered on the edge of his consciousness, not unlike a mosquito’s buzz in your ear in the summer. He sighed and let himself remember freely. He knew he wasn't going to like it, but they were his thoughts and plus, there was no fighting it, he thought quietly to himself. He closed his eyes.

All the Weasley’s no matter who you were, knew that Charlie had an interesting way of reciprocating to comments about his strength and mind being compared. It wasn’t that he wasn’t smart, he was. He was just more known for his brawn. 

This is why when Harry had said that, Charlie only hesitated for a second before lifting him up over his shoulder. It had felt different, somehow. It had felt good. Like, like, Memory Charlie grasped for something to compare it to. It was like when Charlie for the first time tried flying on a broom. He had been barely seven, and the feeling he had gotteon was that of a missing part of him had finally been found. He felt the beginnings of that feeling and it fucking scared him. 

The smaller boy’s shirt had ridden up a little, exposing a stretch of tanned skin right on Charlie’s collar bone. It was soft and it wasn’t until he was forced to set the boy down could he properly breathe again.

The memory changed. He had a feeling this one was worse.

Harry Potter had just caught the snitch, and was smirking in that way that made Charlie want to punch something. Harry was hovering slightly above Charlie, the slightly past peak sun framed behind him. His soft unruly black hair lay whip-lashed in tangles, a lone tuft cupping his ear. His wide, bespectacled, bottle green eyes glinted with mirth. He looked so innocent, so fragile, so small. But he glowed with something that made people's heads stop and turn, to see the wonder that was Harry Potter. 

A second ago, Charlie had been annoyed, but now he could only muster up awe. The boy was fucking beautiful. 

Harry’s grin faltered. He realized Charlie was looking at him. One of them said something. Charlie couldn’t remember who.

The scene changed yet again. The last memory. 

The two had been walking back to the Burrow when Harry’s twelve-year-old self piped up, “Charlie?” he had asked. 

“Yes?” 

“Race you,” he said in the same innocent voice, then flat-out sprinted the rest of the way. Charlie had chased after him and, luckily for his dignity, only lost by a few seconds.

“Git,” he had said, ruffling Harry’s hair. They both forgot all about it quickly as they sat down to eat lunch far away from each other without noticing.

His mind decided to try to fall asleep.

And that, Charlie realized semi-consciously, was that.


	2. blind dive into the deep end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well shit that happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please silence your cellphones! thank you! inappropriate use of exclamation points! i don't care!
> 
> also the aligning of paragraphs is wack in this one so good luck and don't be alarmed

**"'Who are _you?_ ' said the Caterpillar. **

**This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I-I hardly know, Sir, just at present-at least I know who I _was_ when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'"**

- ** _Alice in Wonderland_ , Lewis Carroll**

Charlie woke with no memory at all of the previous night’s events. He did, however, wake up in an extremely positive mood. He stretched and yawned, feeling decidedly well-rested. He hummed as he dressed, even taking the time to brush his hair back. 

Years of living with Ron had taught him that he woke up the latest. He could also hear his mother downstairs running the tap, probably filling a pot with water for eggs. 

Following those trains of thought, he picked his way down the hall, automatically avoiding the creaky floorboards, and gently pushed opened the door to Ron’s room. As he’d suspected, both Ron was fast asleep, one hand wound through the garish orange chudley cannon sheets.

He had just crossed the room to Ron’s bed when he heard a sleepy “Charlie?” Said boy looked over. 

“Yeah?” he asked, surprised. He didn’t think Harry was staying in here. Although, now to think of it, where else would he be staying?

“Whatcha doin’ here?” Harry asked, his green eyes now staring at anything but Charlie.

Charlie grinned easily. “Came to wake you lumps up. Mum’s starting breakfast.”

“Oh,” Harry replied, in thought.

“Is that ok?” Charlie asked, a little concerned now. 

“Yeah, fine,” Harry responded with a forced but convincing smile on his face. Charlie grinned again, turning back to his brother. Leaning down, he put his head rather close to Ron’s ear and with no preamble yelled in his ear: “OI! WAKE UP!”

Ron woke with a start and swung wildly, missing Charlie by near meters. “You prat!” he yelled. “What the bloody hell was that for?!”

“Good morning to you too. Mum’s starting breakfast,” Charlie said back, grinning slyly. “Make sure you come down in the next ten minutes, you two!” he yelled; he was already down the stairs. In the near distance, Harry could hear a pompous voice telling Charlie to please keep his morning hellos to himself, thank you very much. He wondered what Charlie said in response. Then he suddenly remembered what he had been thinking about the night before and felt slightly ill.

“Well, come on,” Ron said to him, throwing him some clean clothes Mrs. Weasley had washed for him. “Get dressed. Charlie may be annoying but he’s right about being down in the next ten. I’m hungry.” 

Harry nodded and pulled his sock thoughtfully over his hand.

“Erm, Harry?” Ron asked carefully, pausing in the act of pulling on his trousers. “You alright there mate?”

“Mmm?” Harry hummed absently.

“Let’s sit you down, yeah?” Ron said before gently guiding Harry to the bed and patiently taking his sock off his hand. Harry shook his head and looked at Ron. 

“What’s on your mind, Harry?” Ron asked, growing suspicious as Harry grew sheepish and blushed. “What happened?” he said, more sharply this time.

“Well,” Harry mumbled, uncomfortable. Ron made impatient _do go on_ gestures with his hands. “When your brother- Charlie- picked me up yesterday, it felt… it felt…” Ron raised an eyebrow.

“Itfeltgood,” Harry said all in a rush. Ron was silent. Harry opened his mouth to apologize for… for what, exactly? For telling the truth? For _feeling_ this way? He decided he didn’t really care, as long as this didn’t do any lasting damage to their friendship. 

Ron burst out laughing. Harry closed his mouth with a snap and frowned. 

“What is it?” he said gruffly.

“You- you like him!” Ron lost himself to laughter again, tears of mirth coming to eyes now. 

“Ron, that’s the thing, I _don’t_ like him!” Harry said urgently. Ron regained his composure. 

“So then,” he said slowly, “why did you like it?” 

Harry thought for a minute. “Maybe… maybe it’s because of my upbringing,” he thought out loud, “I’ve never really been held before, with my parents dying and my relatives being terrible people and all that. Maybe it was nice for me to have a change.”

“Yeah!” Ron exclaimed. “That’s it! Is that it?” he said, suddenly sounding uncertain. 

“Yes,” Harry replied, confident. “That’s what that was.”

He remained just as confident when even Molly Weasley coaxed it out of him, which is, to say, not at all.

<><><><><><><><>

Breakfast was nearly identical to the day before, and just as good. Charlie hummed as he helped his mother bring out the toast, beans, and grilled tomatoes. The boiled eggs were nearly done. 

He greeted everyone with a smile as he sat down. He noticed with a frown that Ron was pointing at him while nudging and snickering at Harry, who grinned weakly back and looked decidedly uncomfortable. Making a mental note to ask them about it later, he decided to ignore it and happily went about making conversation with the rest of the family.

“My, aren’t we in a good mood today?” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. Charlie grinned, and asked where Ginny was, realizing her absence. 

“Oh, she’s upstairs. Too embarrassed to be around, you know,” _Harry_ , she mouthed. At this Charlie chuckled. Maybe one day they would be together, he mused. Then immediately felt his spirits crash. He didn’t trust himself to question why. 

Shaking his head mentally to clear it, he wondered what they were going to do today. He voiced as much, adding that he would be leaving tomorrow in the morning, so whatever they did today would have to count. 

To his surprise, percy answered, not even bothering to look up from his book. He suggested going down to the river to swim, not that he would join, please and thank you. They all thought it was a brilliant idea, with some objective pursing of lips on Molly’s part. She made Charlie promise to bring his wand and keep an eye on the others. 

“Yes, mother,” he answered, not bothering to hide his eye roll. It was a phrase he had learned watching an american show on the telly in a bar and could see its clear potential.

He stood up and helped clear the table, saving a bit of toast and tinned tomatoes for Ginny. He chatted idly with his mother as the pots and pans scrubbed themselves in the sink, warm water gushing out of the tap, letting off a fine mist.

“Say,” Charlie said suddenly, remembering Harry’s uncomfortable looks at him that morning, “did you happen to notice how uncomfortable Harry was around me earlier?”

“Yes,” Molly replied tightly.

“Do you happen to know why…?” he ventured.

“Yes.”

Charlie threw up his hands. “Merlin, mum! What do I need to do to get answers?!” he asked, slightly exasperated now. 

Mrs. Weasley grinned mischievously, “Well, why don’t you ask him?”

“What an idea, Charlie said sarcastically, setting his jaw.

“Oh, get out of here,” Mrs. Weasley laughed. “Go find your trunks and don’t forget your wand!” she added threatenly to his retreating back, swatting his rear with the towel once more.

<><><><><><><><>

Half an hour later found Harry, Ron, Fred, George and Charlie (the fantastic five!) at the river’s muddy brown banks. Scraggly reeds reached their knees and tickled the back of them, making their legs twitch involuntarily. A little ways down, a small dirt landing led into a bit of the river where it was much deeper, maybe seven feet. 

Harry swallowed thickly and felt nausea began to take root. Not because he was afraid of the water, but because he didn’t know how to swim. 

Charlie glanced over to say something to Ron, but his words faltered when he saw the small boy next to him. Rushing over to Harry, he gently grabbed his shoulders and forced Harry’s green eyes to look at his own blue ones. 

“You alright there, mate?” he asked uncertainly, looking at the boy’s pale face. “You look a bit peaky. “What is it?”

“I…” he mumbled something incoherently. Charlie gave him a befuddled look.

“I can’t swim,” Harry finally forced out, looking anywhere but Charlie’s eyes.

“You can’t swim,” Charlie repeated, nearly laughing with relief. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

“Yeah,” echoed Fred and George. Ron was just trying to hold in his laughter. 

“Ron, Fred, George, you go ahead. I’ll help Harry.” Harry smiled hesitantly. “Harry, if you want, I can put a flotation charm on you while I teach you the basics. It’s not that hard, honest.”

“Ok,” Harry mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the next, knowing it would come across as rude if he showed his embarrassment. He saw Ron smirk out of the corner of his eye and swore revenge. He held still as Charlie cast the charm, however, and felt a curious sensation as though his body had suddenly filled up with air. He sort of just stood there, then, not really knowing what to do.

“Come on,” Charlie laughed, “the water won’t bite.” Harry smiled back nervously and ignored the sudden thought of a wet, half- naked Charlie. For his own sanity, he hoped they never got out of the water.

He watched as the other four boys peeled off their shirts and ran to a sort of outcropping a little farther from the landing. He hid barely concealed jealousy as they dove in messily, their legs flipping over their head a bit. Nevertheless, they came up smiling with bright red hair plastered to their heads. 

Charlie noticed him on the shore still and cursed himself. He had already nearly forgotten in his own excitement. He swam over with quick, confident strokes and beckoned for Harry to come out onto the landing. 

“Don’t worry,” he called, “it gets steadily deeper. Now, come in. you’ll catch a cold.”

Harry did as he said and quickly peeled off his shirt, replacing it immediately with his arms; a breeze seems to tease him. He walked out on the landing through the unsurprisingly cold water. 

Noticing his expression, Charlie called out to him that he would soon get used to it. Harry nodded to it and waded until he was up to his chest, shivering. He was staring down at the water contemplating how long it would take a boy of his size to drown when he felt two hands suddenly place themselves on his waist and lift him effortlessly until his stomach was parallel to the water. He yelped rather loudly.

Charlie chuckled in response to Harry’s: “WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” (seriously what was this man’s affinity with picking people up without warning?)

“There’s no time like the present!” he said cheerfully. “Now,” he said, suddenly serious, “straighten out your body with your hands hanging down. We’ll deal with that in a second. I assume you know how to kick but we’re just going to do it for a minute. Hold my hands and kick small fast ones, making sure to point your toes and kick with your whole leg and not just from your knee. Got that?”

Harry nodded, dazed, but did his best to remember what he said. True to Charlie’s word, they did it for about a minute then stopped in a place where Harry could put his feet down. Realizing this, he thought about the fact that Charlie was only about a foot and a half taller. This meant he was somehow treading water whilst swimming whilst his hands were occupied. Good grief, his head hurt. 

“Ok, now the second and final part. Make your arms do a kind of crawling windmill motion. It should feel pretty natural,” Charlie said. He made a sort of extended grabbing motion which Harry did his best to copy. “Don’t slap the water, pet it,” he said strictly, showing Harry the difference. Harry nodded and copied the movement.

Charlie put his hands beneath Harry’s stomach, just low enough so he couldn’t feel Harry’s heartbeat, which had significantly picked up. Harry thanked his lucky stars and promised them a wish for good behavior. They combined kicking, too, and went around for a minute or two until Harry was confident enough to try on his own. Charlie showed him how to keep his head up, using longer, wider strokes that extended more to the sides instead of almost over his ears.  
They practiced for maybe ten minutes, before Harry was completely confident. Charlie was beyond proud.

“Do you smell bad?” he asked seriously, dodging a splash from one of the twins.

“Do I smell bad?” Harry repeated, sounding worried. “Erm…”

Charlie nodded as if satisfied, then pulled Harry in for a giant- and very wet- hug.

“Ron! You two! He did it!” he declared to the whooping audience and a terribly flushed Harry.

“I reckon we can try diving now,” he added to Harry. Harry gave a nonchalant shrug that he hoped masked his increasing bad feeling. Charlie instructed him verbally on how to do it and called Ron and the twins to demonstrate one after another. 

 

“Don’t worry Harry,” Charlie told said boy who was already standing on the outcrop. “Your flotation charm is gone so you won’t come up too fast.”

Harry nodded and dove.

Harry decided he liked diving. It was a bit odd and surreal, though. First there was empty air whistling past his ears as he attempted to squeeze them with his biceps, then all the sudden he was in the water, a place of murky green and not unwelcome coolness, a place where sound traveled oddly and shapes were indistinct often until you were standing right on top of them. It was a quick process, done in the breadth of a second, then Harry was up again, coughing and choking, spatting out river water that had inhabited his mouth. He was leaning against something big and warm, which he used to help steady his balance.

He heard an amused chuckle right above his head and looked up with growing dread already knowing what had happened. He registered the strong arms nearly wrapped around him and the bare chest that was covered in smooth, shiny, burn marks. He gulped and looked up at Charlie, whose head was tipped back and shaking with mirth. His red hair caught the sunlight and seemed to glow in the afternoon. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and extracted himself from the loose embrace. 

“Where you goin’ there, Potter?” Charlie asked, still chuckling. Harry glared at him.

“It was an accident,” he muttered. Charlie just shook his head and pulled himself onto the outcropping to dangle his feet in the water.

“Alright you lot. One more dive each,” (he winked at Harry, who pointedly looked away) “and then we’re going because I’m getting hungry.”

Ron’s stomach echoed its agreement. They each did one more dive, Harry ignoring the twin’s mockingly open arms and dove in the opposite direction. He turned out to not really have dodged a bullet, however, as when he was getting out he slipped but luckily steadied himself. And what should that steadier be but Charlie’s ( _rather muscled and well-toned_ , Harry thought) bicep?

Charlie smirked and jokingly offered his whole arm. Harry mumbled something and stalked off to go haunt Ron. 

The walk back was spent in small talk running along the lines of: “Say, do you see that snail run? It glistens so!” (George, feigning excitement) and: “who do you think will be the new DADA teacher, Ron?” (Harry, to Ron) and: “that’s quite enough, Fred,” (Charlie to Fred after what must have been the umpteenth time the twins have reenacted Harry’s diving experience, although he did reprimand them with a slight smile and what the hell did _that_ mean?).

All in all, they were a cheerful lot, and Ron didn’t even remember to complain about the roast beef sandwiches they had for lunch. Charlie went off with Ginny, Fred and George disappeared into their room, and Harry and Ron pored over their letters, which had come while they were gone. 

When Mrs. Weasley poked her head in the door to tell them dinner was going to be served somewhere in the near future, she asked for them to be downstairs quickly. They nodded and she left. 

“Reckon we go down now?” Ron asked Harry. He nodded and they picked their way down the stairs, Ron stopping once to irritably yell at the ghoul that lived in the attic, who was making these odd moaning sounds accompanied with a symphony of clanking pipes. He stepped away, scowling, when the ghoul continued, although at a lesser volume, respectively.

They sat down in the room when Charlie bounded into it.

“Mum?” he called, walking into the kitchen.

“Yes?” she asked, turning to him, her face flushed from the heat of the cooker. 

“Can I make desert? Chocolate chip biscuits?” he asked. 

“Of course, deary,” she replied, turning back to the potatoes she was boiling. “While you’re here, wrap those sandwiches in cling film. They’re for tomorrow morning when you leave.”

Charlie nodded and pulled out the tube of slightly sticky plastic. Just then Ron came into the room. 

“You’re making biscuits?” he asked Charlie enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, you hungry?” Charlie teased and poked Ron in the stomach, causing the younger boy to roll his eyes. 

“Harry!” he called behind him.

“Yes?” Harry said, walking into the kitchen. 

“Charlie’s making biscuits for after supper.” Ron told him.

“Can I help?” Harry asked Charlie tentatively. Cooking for the Dursleys had taught him how to cook rather well and one of the things they asked for most often were fresh biccies. He realized that those, at least, were kind of fun to make and with Charlie, why not?

Charlie smiled at him and went back to the sandwiches. 

Ten minutes later had eight Weasleys plus Harry seated around the table. Dinner was lovely, filled with laughter and small talk. The only person who seemed unhappy was Ginny, who was placed next to Harry and seemed to playing a game with herself of try-to-remove-the-stubborn-blush-on-my-face-whilst-appearing-nonchalant-because-i-don't-care-that-harry-potter-is-sitting-next-to-me. She didn’t seem to be winning.

After dinner Charlie volunteered Harry and himself to do the washing up, because he could just get it done with magic in a second and he really needed to start the cookies. Harry agreed, and per Charlie’s instruction got out the flour, sugars, salt, baking soda, butter, vanilla, eggs, and chocolate chunks while Charlie performed various flicks with his wand that made the pots and pans start scrubbing themselves and the newly cleaned dishes tuck away. 

“Anything happen this summer?” Charlie asked, as he watched Harry, amused, search for fruitlessly for the mixing bowl. 

“In the cupboard,” Charlie finally says. Harry glares at him but goes to retrieve it anyway.

“Well,” Harry says slowly. “This creature, er, I think he called himself a house-elf, named Dobby, came to my house and tried to get me to not go to Hogwarts. He knocked over a giant plum pudding and was also stealing away my post from Ron and Hermione too. But other than that, just getting kicked around by my relatives. You?”

Charlie gaped at him. “That’s all you have to say?” he said sarcastically. “So, pray tell me, what exactly do this aunt and uncle and, I suppose, nephew too,” he added as an afterthought, “do to you?”

“Well they mostly just shout at me and make me do all the cooking,” Harry shrugged. “At least I don’t live in a cupboard anymore. He shrugged half- heartedly. “It’s not that-”

“If you say not that bad…” a now infuriated Charlie left the threat hanging in the air.

“And what, exactly, do you mean by _living in a cupboard_?” he set his jaw and waited for Harry to answer.

“What the label on the tin says,” Harry said, “but not anymore so you don’t have to… freak.” He cringed slightly at the word remembering the many other connotations he had heard the word used in.

Charlie, for all his faults, was a pretty easy-going guy. This was slightly pushing it, but he said nothing on the subject, instead forcing out: “One of our Chinese Fireballs gave birth a month ago.”

Harry looked surprised at the subject change but then broke into smile. “Do you have pictures?” he asked eagerly.

“I do if you read the recipe and start making the biscuits,” Charlie told him, smiling. To his surprise, Harry laughed. 

“I haven’t needed a recipe for several years now. But do get the pictures,” he added brightly.

Charlie felt a stab of anger for the reminder of Harry’s life but stood up obediently all the same. When he came back, all the dry ingredients were mixed and the sugars were in a separate bowl, but Harry was standing with the appropriate amount of butter in one hand whilst turning aimlessly (read: helplessly) around the kitchen.

“Is there a way to soften it?” he asked Charlie. Said boy nodded and handed Harry, who had quickly wiped his hands, the pictures he had brought down. He chuckled softly when he heard Harry’s gasps of delight; he knew he had never seen a dragon before. 

“Era, we’re callin’ her,” Charlie told him over his shoulder. “Feisty one, too. Nearly took my hand off when I went to examine her.”

He produced the butter and mixed it into the sugars, moving aside to let Harry pour in the vanilla. Harry was so close they were nearly touching. He grinned and subtly brushed shoulders with the other boy. He heard Harry’s breath hitch and suddenly remembered himself. Cursing at his stupidity, he moved away. He could almost feel the clouds of disappointment radiating from Harry.

He cleared his throat. Harry jumped but didn’t turn.

“Fetch me the dry ingredients, will you?” Charlie nodded even though he knew he couldn’t see him. 

“Cheers,” Harry said when Charlie handed him the smaller bowl. “Now, while I’m stirring, add the eggs one at a time. Those two over there, he pointed with his chin, still stirring. Wordlessly, Charlie did his job, and started the next one too, but when he noticed Harry starting to strain under the toughening dough, he abruptly took the bowl from his hands with a mumbled “I’ll do it”. Harry smiled thankfully at him and Charlie smiled warily back.

Harry could not stop staring. He added the dry ingredients slowly, too slowly in fact, he knew that the dough would be too fluffy, but he didn’t care. Where he had struggled, with his scrawny arms and pitiful muscle, Charlie succeeded easily, with his dragon experience and all that.

His powerful arms seemed to be made of pure muscle, not bulky and veined, but chiseled and well-defined. Harry knew Charlie knew he was staring, but he said nothing.

Charlie knew Harry was staring. It was- quite obviously- wrong, but to be honest, Charlie didn’t really think much of it. He was used to it by now. It wasn’t as though he was actively trying to make them look bigger or flex them more. No that was ridiculous. Stop asking.

They did finally get the job done, however, and for that they had mixed feelings. They continued their small talk, carefully staying away from Harry’s summer and past life. Which is, to say, they talked about Hogwarts and Charlie’s life. 

It was when Harry was putting away the flour that shit hit the fan. Not really. Flour did fly but there wasn’t any fan. He was thinking about Dobby and Dudley and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and how nice the Weasleys were and the bag of flour exploded forcefully in the direction of him, which he thankfully dodged but Charlie wasn’t so lucky. As he was internally groaning about his accidental magic, he heard a low voice behind him: “Oh it’s on.” Harry gulped. Charlie had thought he did it on purpose. 

He was about to turn around when a sticky liquid suddenly engulfed his hair, smelling sweetly but tasting terrible when a bit got on his tongue. Vanilla. Charlie had thrown vanilla at him. A low growl dominated his throat without him realizing it. He turned around and grabbed the first thing he could find. It turned out to be a parcel of brown sugar. He plunged his hand in and aimed it at his target, almost feeling sorry when it got in Charlie’s hair. Almost. 

Soon they were throwing all sorts of ingredients at each other, aiming for anything they could.  
They were nearly choking themselves with laughter. It was only until Harry threw a bit of dough at Charlie that they froze. They had forgotten to put it into the oven. 

Charlie stepped closer. Harry, nerves shot with adrenaline, not thinking right, forgot he was only going to grab the bowl. 

He stepped forward too. 

Charlie had uncertainty in his eyes now. What was Harry doing?

Harry swallowed hard and admired Charlie’s muscled stature, his almost-perfect-but-not-quite jawline, and is long-ish hair that came to his shoulders. He took in a rattling breath which only hitched in return. Well, shit.

Oh, sod it.

With two steps, he was in front of Charlie, his blue eyes getting wider and wider. Staring back at Harry’s own dilated pupils at this point, he knew. Who cared if he was much younger? Who cares if he was being ridiculous, and barely knew what he was doing? Further more, who was going to stop him? He glanced down at Charlie’s lips and saw a small bit of dough on the bottom one. He went up as tall as he could on his toes, and wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed that Charlie was slightly leaning over, making it possible for Harry to reach him. He leaned forward. Everything seemed to fall away in slow motion. He, Harry, was going to do it. He didn’t think of the consequences or what Charlie would think. This was just his moment. He gently pressed his lips to Charlie’s and marveled in how wonderfully soft they were, despite how chapped they were, too. He ghosted his tongue over the dough and savored it, accidentally biting Charlie’s lip in the process.

Charlie didn’t move. He was in complete and total shock. 

He simply stood there, wanting to pull away because this was wrong, so wrong, but he liked it and he didn’t know what to do and then Harry licked his bottom lip free from the piece of dough that was there and bit his lip he _bit his lip_ and then he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t, this was wrong, so wrong, and then he was pushing Harry away too strongly and he watched through narrowed eyes (when had he narrowed them? Was he mad?) as Harry fell on his arse and then he was hissing through his teeth _“don’t ever do that again,”_ and then he was walking out, away from the tears already pooling in Harry’s eyes, away from his mother who tried to ask with a worried look what was wrong, and away from his bad choices.

He only wished they didn’t follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to all of you reading my crappy no-one cares story. it means a lot to me. also thank you to my one commenter and kudos. (kudoses? kudosi?)
> 
> Please remember that kudos and comments and always welcome and ill probably reply. your ideas have to be better than mine at least


	3. second year, second chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is just a filler. mwahahaha. seriously though, dont get excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> read the notes at the end for juicy content
> 
> okay but I like the color chartreuse

**“Sometimes I’m not angry, I’m hurt and there’s a big difference.”**

_Harry kissed me. Harry kissed me. Harry kissed me._

The mantra repeated itself over and over in Charlie’s head, making his emotions more conflicted than his eyes during a quidditch match. It made his head hurt, and he had scarcely other room to think other thoughts.

He was stretched out on his bed, arms above his head, hands behind it, staring at the ceiling so intently he could have drawn it from memory. Every watermark, crack, and ribbon in the wood above him seemed to mock him, in a strange way, as if saying, _we know what you did. The walls in the kitchen told us._

“Shut up,” he advised them.

A knock at the door prevented them from answering. Which they were going to.

Charlie shook his head as Ginny came in, bearing a small tea tray with a plate of the chocolate biscuits, _their_ chocolate biscuits, and two mugs with steam rising from the top, a delicious scent wafting from them all the way to Charlie.

“Cheers, Gin,” he said, reaching an arm out to take a mug from the chipped tray.

He whiffed it. 

“Blackberry tea?”

“It’s your favorite,” she shrugged, “if not very English. But I keep some in my room for when you visit.”

Charlie grinned at her, but it felt sort of forced. He pushed himself up, sitting against the wall at the edge of the bed.

“What’s the occasion?” he murmured, wondering what she was about to tell him. Although, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Harry,” she said sadly. “You stormed up the stairs without even saying anything to Mum, then locked yourself in your room. He was on the floor when we found him, right in the middle of the kitchen, tears running down his face, this shocked expression, too.”

Charlie swallowed audibly. He wanted Ginny to stop. He wanted Harry to be okay. But he didn’t do anything. He was a coward, and he knew it. Ginny went on.

“What did you do to him, Char?” she asked, her small face screwed up. “I don’t know what happened and it’s scaring me,” she said. Charlie blinked back his own tears and scooted over on the bed so Ginny could sit next to him.

“Oh, Gin,” he told her gently, wrapping his arms around the eleven- year- old. 

“He did something, something that he oughtn’t, and I don’t know if I can forgive him just yet.” 

Ginny’s sobs faded into hiccoughs, and she turned to him, bright blue eyes shining.

“But you’ll talk to him, won’t you? Even though you’re cross?”

“Sure,” Charlie said heavily. “Sometime.”

Checking his watch, he jumped up, holding a squealing Ginny in his arms as he did so. 

“It really is time for bed, Ginevra,” he told her seriously. “It’s past eight.”

Ginny pouted, but let him bring her into her room over his shoulder, stealing a biscuit before they left. Charlie kissed her on the forehead, and tucked in her bedclothes. 

“Good night, sleep tight, and don’t let the billywigs bite,” he said softly, but she had already fallen asleep. Or so he thought. 

At the doorframe a single sentence said in Ginny’s careless grammar stopped him in his tracks and made him feel emotions he couldn’t name.

“Harry’s broken so please, please, fix him Charlie.”

<><><><><><><><>

Charlie couldn’t fall asleep. Shadows flitted across the walls, forming huge monstrous shapes that prowled around restlessly. He didn’t notice. A cold draft (for august), kissed his bare skin (well more like forcefully snogged). He didn’t shiver. Low moans from the ghoul in the attic that should have made all his hairs stand up echoed through his room. He barely heard.

He felt next to no emotion, period. He’d a crazy day, and _goddamnit_ he was going to sleep. Other blokes didn’t have this amount of trouble falling asleep. Women, either. _Ah, but they don’t have your problem,_ the ceiling whispered. Charlie rolled his eyes before realizing it was hopeless to sleep. The ceiling was right. Again. 

In that case, he wanted tea. He heaved himself off the bed and grabbed the two empty mugs that still smelled like blackberries, and the still full plate of chocolate chip memories. He put them on the tray and silently tiptoed out of his room, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards.

He softly padded down the hall, and put the tray gently on the kitchen counter and table, wiping his hands on his pants as he went to the tea cupboard to see if the blackberry tea was there. 

It was.

He grinned and started to heat the kettle on the cooker, pouring in some water from the tap. He hummed as he worked, pouring himself a mug some time later. Years of living in Romania had gotten his immune so tough he drank the leaves down with it.

He had put everything away and was enjoying his second cup whilst leaning on the counter top when he heard a small crash. He was up in a second, his mug having been shoved behind him, fists up in lieu of a missing wand.

A blur of blue with glasses, and caramel- colored skin, and wiry stature, and a shock of black, black hair… Charlie inwardly groaned. What time like the present? He had to leave early anyway.

It was time to talk to Harry Potter.

<><><><><><><><>

Harry lay on the floor, his expression ground into his face. He was in the exact position Charlie pushed him into, one hand on the floor, both legs sprawled out at awkward angles, one hand raised as if to say, _wait, stop_. Or possibly to high five someone. One can never be too sure.

He vaguely registered the lone tear making its way down his face, leaving long, salty tracks behind, before Mrs. Weasley entered, stage right. 

“Harry? Do you know why Charlie’s made such a fuss just now- Harry! All you alright, dear?”

Harry unfroze and curled into his own rendition of the fetal pose. 

He licked his lips, still too stunned to fully comprehend what in the merlin’s fuck was going on.

“Pardon?” he finally said, not actually hearing what she had said in the first place, only vaguely registering she had said something at all.

“I asked if you were alright, dear. Did Charlie do this to you?” she asked, somehow suddenly looking murderous and worried at the same time.

“No,” he told her, “I think he was just upset.”

¨If you're sure, why don’t you go on to bed? Ron’s changed the bedclothes for you,” Mrs. Weasley told him kindly.

Harry nodded mutely and climbed the stairs, and, although he knew it wouldn’t matter, he tiptoed past Charlie’s room. 

Once he got to Ron’s room, he found the older boy already asleep, chudley cannons bedspread tucked up tight.

Harry sighed and climbed into bed after quickly pulling on his blue pyjamas, not caring to brush his teeth. He felt the tears coming.

_What the bloody hell had he been thinking? Kissing Charlie? Who was eighteen? Who would do that? Him, apparently, and now he had to pay._

Tears fell down his face silently, warm, salty reminders of what he had done. It was no use. He couldn’t just lie there with himself, he would go insane. 

Looking around at the mostly orange room, he saw an empty cup that had probably held some beverage at one point. This botched his idea of going to the bathroom simply to get out of the room; gave him purpose.

He swung his legs out of the bed and crossed the room quickly. A muffled sound from downstairs froze him. He stopped, heart beating wildly. 

Ron moved beside him. Harry glanced over in relief, that was what the noise was. 

His heist down the stairs to return the empty mug proved pretty successful. That was what he called it in his head, a _heist._ He had heard of one in a muggle movie once, and he wasn’t sure this was the same thing, but he liked the sound of it, so heist it was.

He padded softly into the kitchen, cup in hand, when he finally looked up and saw the bare back and pant- clad bottom of Charlie Weasley. Well, fuck.

Heist thwarted.

<><><><><><><><>

The unflattering mug in his hand fell with a crash. It shattered on the floor, ceramic shards flying through the air like defective trapeze artists.

Harry thought is was a nice metaphor.

Sprinting like he never had before he dashed past Charlie and into the sitting room, not caring for the mess on the floor, instead jumping over it and scrambling behind the couch where he finally stopped, breathing hard, knees up to his chest, closing his eyes tightly.

He knew he whole thing was overreacting, anybody else would have just been a little awkward, but something was disastrously off. He felt like his whole life had been uprooted. At this rate he wasn’t sure he would ever hear Charlie’s voice talking to him again. 

As always, he spoke too soon. 

He heard soft footsteps that were way too quiet for their owner and then Charlie was talking. 

“Harry? Harry? Come out, I want to talk to you.”

Harry stayed completely still, heart beating wildly, breathing shallow but silent, eyes wide open in the dark.

Charlie sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall just as forcefully, sliding down and resting his feet out in front of him.

He brought them to his chest and hugged them, feeling as though he was in primary again. His emotions were wild; something else was at work but for the life of him Charlie couldn't figure out what.

He breathed out, choosing his next words carefully.

“Harry, I know you're here. I'm just going to say what I need to, then I'll bugger off, yeah?”

Harry let out the breath he had been holding but didn't respond.

“I just wanted to say I forgive you, and that this is in no way your fault. I led you on, and that was just… fuck.”

Harry finally made a sound, a short and bitter laugh that immediately put Charlie on edge.

“Stop,” he snapped. “I did it. Not you. I'm so sorry, and I understand if you don't look at me the same now.”

“I don't,” Charlie admitted. Harry knew it was true, and expected the answer, but it still stung his weirdly broken heart. 

Charlie stood up then, feeling the conversation over. His back felt the sudden absence of the wall he had been leaning on, and suddenly he was hyper- aware. 

The night air came in quick, sharp, cold slaps to his back, but it was gone quickly enough that he didn't have time to hiss. 

His breathing was too loud, too harsh, in the stillness. The tag in his pants was uncomfortable and noticeable; he could even feel the writing on the cloth as well. 

He felt every little vibration and every single thing under his bare feet.

Maybe it was all this, making him delirious. Maybe it was the curiously strong emotional trauma he had experienced earlier, just setting in. Maybe it was because after all this, he still trusted Harry and was intrigued by him. Whatever it was to lead him to say what he said next, he wouldn't take it back for the world.

“Oh, and Harry?”

Bated breath that he knew filled the silence intensified.

“That was a bloody good kiss.”

Charlie thought he could feel the stunned look he knew lie on Harry's face through the dark to his very bones.

<><><><><><><><>

In the morning, Charlie was gone.

The sandwiches were gone too, however, so Mrs. Weasley didn't go ballistic. At least  
Charlie wouldn’t starve.

Harry didn’t smile at breakfast. He kept his tone cheerful, and responded politely with just enough wit to make people not even notice. 

Except one person did.

<>

Ginevra Weasley had a crush on Harry Potter. Fine.

However, Ginny allowed herself to put behind her feelings and talk to Harry like the friends they really weren’t.

He was always so _expressive,_ and now, he wasn’t.

She pulled him aside after breakfast that morning, keeping her blush in check when she had to touch his arm to do it.

“What is it?” Harry asked, alarmed.

“You didn’t smile. What’s wrong?” Ginny asked, all inquisitorial. That sounded like a stupid comment to make, but Harry understood what she was trying to convey.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” he said, smiling for effect then immediately wincing at how fake it was. Ginny winced too. 

“If you’re sure,” she said skeptically before throwing one last look over her shoulder. Harry shivered. Even though Ginny was younger, she could still be quite the enforcer. Harry shuddered to think what she could do with a wand.

<><><><><><><><>

With a tad less than a fortnight until term started, the Weasleys and Co. (Harry) discussed their Hogwarts letters and fantasized about the school itself.

Even though Harry was aching to get back, he felt something was off. He was vastly curious about what Dobby’s warnings meant, and, okay, a little intimidated. 

Still, he was ecstatic about returning to Hogwarts again, and seeing Hermione too. He and Ron spent the days going down to the river, playing chess, and stealing food while Mrs. Weasley was cooking, and playing small quidditch games that weren’t as fun without Charlie.

Bt Harry didn’t complain. He couldn’t.

The day finally, _finally_ came, and after going back to the house a few times the Weasleys and Co. were on their way to Platform 9 ¾, ready to embark on another epic journey to Hogwarts.

They got there safely, if you ignore the fact they just illegally flew a Ford Anglia over the whole England and Scotland, said car in the end just rejecting them and going to run amok in the Forbidden Forest, broke Ron’s wand, made Hedwig mad, and probably severely hurt the whomping willow.

All in all, they had a pretty smooth trip, thank you very much.

They missed the sorting, but Ginny was sorted into Gryffindor, so all was well. 

They had a cheerful reunion with Hermione Granger, a less than cheerful reunion with Draco Malfoy (ugh), and a disastrous first class with Gilderoy Lockhart.

Quite a character, that man was.

About a month into first term, Harry got a surprise. A letter from Charlie. 

_Dear Harry,_ he wrote.

_I’m just checking in to see how you and Ron are doing. I would ask the twins, but I don’t trust them to give a straight answer, like I know you will._

_I know it’s probably too early in the year to have the first quidditch match yet, but when you do, I want to hear ALL about it. Every maneuver, everything. Paint me a mental picture._

_How is Ginny doing? Sorted into Gryffindor, I hope? How are you doing? Still sorted into Gryffindor, I hope? What about that crazy house elf that came to visit you? He still bothering you? I would keep an eye out, but I don’t think you need to worry._

_Last month a new hatchling arrived. We usually get them from the dragons themselves, but this one was special. It was found abandoned behind some rubbish bins in a muggle town a little ways away from the north western border of Sri Lanka. Wee little thing too. One of our older dragons immediately took to it and now they’re attached at the hip._

_Hope you’re well, I’m a little sorry about the terms we left on, but what is done is done. I really do forgive you, however._

_Remember the quidditch play-by-play, and keep an eye out for Malfoy, will you?_

_Best regards,_

_Charlie Weasley_

Harry kept the letter on his person at all times, and took _ages_ to finally respond. He finally settled on keeping it informative but hopefully not too long.

 _Dear Charlie,_ he started, writing in his loopy manuscript,

_You’ll be pleased to learn Ginny was sorted into Gryffindor, Ron and the twins are safe, and the elf hasn’t shown up again._

_The hatchling you told me about seems really neat. Does it have a name?_

_I made it back on the quidditch team, and our first match is next week. I promise I’ll tell you everything. Malfoy’s being a little weird, and I seemed to have acquired a shadow by the name of Colin Creevey, but something really bad happened today._

_Mrs. Norris was found, petrified, hanging from her tail on a wall lamp. Underneath her were the words:_

_The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir... beware._

_I don’t suppose you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets? We tried asking Binns and he gave us a story of a sort of secret place that Salazar Slytherin put in Hogwarts or something. I don’t know. It seems like a load of tosh to me._

_I’m still a better seeker than you,_

_Harry Potter_

<><><><><><><><>

Harry was quaking. Like a leaf. He was a leaf. He was in no way ready to play the match. Wood, as usual, was yelling at them their standard pep talk, while pointing furiously at a board with squiggles running pell- mell across and around and all over the place, which Harry assumed was the game strategy.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his crimson robes and looked out over the already riled up pitch.

Waves of red, blue, green, and yellow lined the stands, filled with masses of bodies alternately cheering or booing for their respectable teams, or, if their house wasn’t playing, cheering for whichever house they got along best with. 

With a sharp whistle from Madame Hooch they were off, Harry immediately flying to the far side of the pitch and turning his back to the sun. His eyes roamed everywhere, heart and spirits soaring when he spotted Hermione and Ron in the stands screaming vigorously.

Malfoy was down at the other end, platinum hair gleaming like his silver eyes. He turned and glared at Harry before smirking to Harry’s vague left vicinity. 

Harry looked and rolled just in time to avoid being flattened by the bludger. But the bludger didn’t just fly off. It followed him, tracking his every move and swerving toward him dangerously. Soon he had both Weasley twins on him, swinging their bats everywhere as if trying to fight off gnats.

A glint of gold registered in Harry. He charged for it, telling the twins to lay off as he shot forward faster, racing the bludger who was now able to go faster because of the nearly straight line the Gryffindor was flying in. 

His hand just caught the snitch when, WHAM, and he was out like a light.

He came too briefly a few seconds later, to Lockhart’s swimming face above him, and only was able to croak out a weak ‘no!’ before he had cast a spell.

<><><><><><><><>

Harry compared his arm to a worm. He had seen many; in school he would spend hours in the dirt patch behind the playground where no one could see him, and the worms were bountiful.

It was like that, if worms were usually useless, surprisingly heavy, tan- ish things that used to be his arm. Also if they had a strange firmness to them, sort of like still- squishy gelatin, and needle- like pains peppering every couple centimeters.

He groaned; why did the worst stuff always happen to him? His life just couldn’t be left alone.

A bottle of some strange liquid rattled on the nightstand, with a note taped to it explaining what had happened and who had come to see him and anything else he might have questions about. The script was neat cursive, slanted maybe a little bit. It was a far cry from Hermione’s cramped but impossibly neat writing, but elegant in its own way, so he assumed it was probably Madam Pomfrey’s.

The bottle read, “skele-gro”

He shifted in the bed, his arse asleep from sitting in one position for quite a few hours now, and frowned. A pain erupted in his sternum, the kind that was dull and manageable, but uncomfortable nonetheless.

He decided to ignore it, and instead turned to his bedside. A mountain of sweets over- flowed onto the floor a little, with everything from Drooble’s Best Blowing gum to licorice wands to Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. 

From the quidditch team, he supposed, and perhaps some of his other friends. Digging through the mess quietly, still ignoring the pain in his chest, a loud crack sounded and startled Harry into dropping his clasped cauldron cake.

He looked down, panicked, at the region of his stomach, and was met with doleful green eyes that really had no right to be that large. He groaned, not bothering to hide it. Dobby again.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed angrily. His anger was quelled, however, when Dobby’s rambling made him quite confused. He listened, although he knew it was probably cock- and- bull, his run- on mess of a story, until Dobby mentioned the Chamber of Secrets. That got him properly interested.

They whispered furiously back and forth, Harry prying, Dobby shaking his head fitfully and murmuring “bad Dobby, very bad Dobby,” and hissing back his previous warnings of how Harry needed to get out of the school _now_ , but both stopped when Dobby suddenly heard people outside and disappeared with a crack. 

In the shadowy darkness Harry learned about the newest attack, and cradled his arm, thinking of Colin Creevey, of Dobby and his ridiculous warnings, and finally mulled over what Charlie might have thought about all these happenings, if he were here. 

Maybe he was just imagining it, but when he thought of the second- oldest Weasley, the pain in his sternum seemed to inch just a little bit closer to his heart, throbbing a little harder, in time with his lifeline. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. so. you know how everyone's always like, "charlie's sooooo laid back."  
> I agree, but heres the thing. i dont understand how someone can put him in a situation like i have and keep him that way. its fucking hard to write. maybe thats just me though. bloody hell my life needs to sort out.
> 
> also.
> 
> thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments. Thank you thank you thank you you have no idea how excited i get when i get the emails
> 
> love you to the cow obstacle and back (lol if you get that shitty joke please let me know) and dont forget to tune in next time, which is pretty indecipherable at the moment as my updating schedule is literally fucking everywhere whoops. (I know, im a bastard)


	4. Heartburn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the name of this chapter.

**_And when I touch you_ **  
**_I feel happy inside_ **  
**_It's such a feelin' that my love_ **  
**_I can't hide_ **  
**_I can't hide_ **  
**_I can't hide_ **

**_Yeah, you got that somethin'_ **  
**_I think you'll understand_ **  
**_When I say that somethin'_ **  
**_I want to hold your hand_ **  
**_I want to hold your hand_ **  
**_I want to hold your hand_ **

**_I Want to Hold Your Hand_ , The Beatles**

Harry was released from the hospital wing within the next day, but the headaches started two days after that. The pain in his sternum had lessened significantly, now only a tinny hurt that he could and did ignore fully. The headaches were much the same; not very bad, nor long. Harry put both injuries out of his mind by putting the chest pain to some internal bruising, and the headaches to his scar. He thought nothing of the strange occurrences, and even thought himself acclimated to them, until the heartburn.

Oh god, the heartburn.

Without fail, after every meal he would get it, blistering madly in his chest, the tightness and pain of it so intense he was forced to hold his breath and keep absolutely still, until it faded away and he was left gasping in relief. He didn’t say anything to his friends, figuring his food was going down the wrong way, and vowed to eat more carefully. 

Weeks passed, three to be exact, and Harry learned to cope with the pain, setting a sort of routine. A cool cloth at night soothed his pounding brain (they were quite horrible at night but abated towards the morning), and he was able to get sleep. Massaging his sternum and sitting up straight eased the ache some, and during meals he would drink no less than two full cups of water, which helped the heartburn. The whole thing was odd, and it was starting to get worse.

Now when he woke up in the mornings he had very slowly crack his eyes open, because often even the dim light in the room could hurt his eyes. Whenever he got up, no matter how fast, black fuzziness rimmed his vision and left him temporarily dizzy, his eyes blinking rapidly.

Now it wasn’t a matter of ignorance, but pride. Headaches, chest pains, that fuzzy blackness, and heartburn were something that loads of people had to deal with! Why should he be the one to complain?

But as he soon found himself leaning on the arches in corridors for support when a particularly sharp pain panged through his chest, often for no reason, and the heartburn started happening all the time, not just after meals, and the headaches were constant, now bordering migraines, Harry finally became properly worried.

But life with the Dursleys had taught him that as long as he was silent with his pain, it would eventually go away.

But then, one rainy afternoon, during quidditch practice, he was suddenly hit by a new pain, in a place he had never gotten it before. It was a deep ache, panging in his stomach. It was like a feeling of loneliness that filled him through his whole being, blinding all rational thought. It was like his very soul was trying to rip itself in two, but not quite managing.

It was shockingly, incredibly, horrifically, agonizing. With a great gasp his eyes rolled back into his head and he began a quick descent to the ground below, sans broom, robes engulfing him, like a falling scarlet cloud.

<><><><><><><><>

“Woah!” Charlie yelled at the rearing dragon. “Easy girl, I’m not going to hurt you. She’ll be back soon!”

The green dragon with bright red wings roared at him, though without fire as Charlie slowly approached her. 

“There you go,” he whispered gently, reaching up a hand to lightly stroke her lowered snout. She keened softly at his touch, and he gave her a sad smile. 

“I know, I know. I’ll stay right here. You get some rest.”

The great dragon snorted as if to say, _she better be back soon or else_ , before gracefully lowering herself to the ground with a decisive thump, her wings making a swishing noise through the air as her wings flapped once and settled around her. Charlie sunk into her side and rested against the dark green scales which had been warmed by the Romanian sun.

He knew one of the only reasons she had settled down was due to her special ability, that allowed her to read physical health. She probably knew Kora needed to be vaccinated and checked, but still. 

Era was one of the few dragons that really trusted him. The others he had to handle like all the other wizards. Often with brute force. He had rescued Era just short of a year ago, but he had immediately taken to her, and she had learned that if she went along with Charlie nobody would get hurt.

She was, in fact, the dragon whose pictures Harry had saw. 

But Charlie knew that taking away her hatchling was stretching it. She had only had it last week, but the longer the young one wasn’t vaccinated or checked, the bigger the threat she could pose, not only to her mother and other dragons, but also to the magical folk who worked with her.

Named Kora, the baby was Era’s pride and joy, especially because nobody was sure she was going to have the dragon at all. She had been abused something awful by the colt of witches who had held her, certain her scales had magical properties. Because of this, she was extremely skittish around magical folk other than Charlie, and was missing several of the green shiny plates that adorned her body. 

Her mate had been rescued from the same situation, but died shortly after it came through that Era was pregnant, two years after their rescue. Filled with grief, Era’s unborn dragon was in real danger of being aborted by Era’s body on its own. But she pulled through, and Kora was born into a bright world with no father, but a mother who loved her enough to almost make up for it. 

Charlie had to admit, there was something special about the two. In just that week, the two had grown incredibly close, Era proving to be a remarkable teacher and mother. 

Charlie sighed contentedly and settled against Era’s flank, tilting his face up to the sun, drinking in its warmth. His fingers absently traced patterns on her side, and she purred, a low rumbling sound that vibrated the ground below them slightly. 

A small pain suddenly flitted across his chest quickly, and was gone. He frowned, his perfect moment shattered. During the last few weeks he had been getting odd pains that felt like the ghost of something much worse. They were there, and then they were gone, and Charlie was left with the unsettling feeling that these were someone else’s hardships.

He wasn’t worried, however, because Era wasn’t. Because of her special ability, if she panicked, he would too. But this had been going on and so far, she hadn’t battled a bright yellow eye.

He pondered his thoughts and twirled a hand in the grass by his thigh, cringing as another phantom pain tore quickly through his stomach.

He settled back down, but suddenly, with no warning, none whatsoever, his body was suddenly wracked with pain, causing him to breathe in sharply and tears to collect in his eyes.

He felt as if loneliness and the ache one got when missing someone had become actual physical wounds, not just emotional. He began crying, for whatever he was without, although he had no idea what it could be. 

His chest heaved and he sobbed, burning for a nameless something, feeling like he couldn’t breathe without it.

He felt broken, he felt _lost_ , he felt as though his soul was being ripped into thousands of pieces.

Era, sensing his distress, swept to her feet and nudged Charlie’s body frantically with her claw as his eyes rolled back and he slumped at her feet, utterly unmoving.

<><><><><><><><>

_No. No. Something is wrong- wake up. Open your eyes you are not asleep wake up. I want my baby wakeupwakeup. Something is wrong and i havent felt it something is WRONG._

_I must get help what is wrong with him wizards come help he is asleep during a fine day what has happened. I need my baby no no no charlie come back. SOMETHING IS WRONG. Your lungs no your breathing not good not good WIZARDS HELP._

<><><><><><><><>

_“And when you need a strong dose of love,_  
I’ll be right there up above,  
In this place you call heeeeeeeaaaven”

Celestina Warbeck’s voice warbled out of the small wireless in the corner, singing a song about heaven and how it was reachable in the name of love. 

_Bollocks_ , Mr. Weasley thought privately to himself. But he didn’t have the heart to go turn it off, not when his wife was singing so enthusiastically. 

Sighing heavily, he sat down at the table, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Today was one of his rare days off of work, and no matter how much Celestina’s singing aggravated him, there was still something about seeing the house empty like this, he and his wife having rare moments to themselves, with no kids to be seen.

Molly, or _Mollywobbles_ , he thought affectionately, was sitting on the sofa, knitting Ron’s christmas jumper, weaving the maroon yarn through the two flashing needles, making the stitches jump between her hands. Having done this for so many years and for so many people, she no longer needed to focus on her task, and sang happily along with Warbeck’s ever-growing-louder voice.

Arthur bit his lip and smiled when the next line came through the speaker and his wife sang ever shriller.

_"I know you think it’s out of reach,_  
But darling remember what I preach,  
Anything is possible in the name of lo-" 

“Mr Weasley! Mrs. Weasley!” a voice screeched from the floo. They both abandoned their places and ran towards the fireplace.

“What is it, Henry?” Arthur asked, face ashen. “What’s wrong?” 

Henry quickly spoke: “Charlie collapsed and our healers have no idea what’s happened to him and even Era is panicking which is _really really_ bad.” He took a deep breath. “We can move him anywhere you like we’ll just floo him over. We don’t know what’s wrong, but it seems to be pretty fucking awful for Era to be the way she is now.” He gasped, awaiting their verdict.

Molly’s face pulled solemn. “I want him in my house in five fucking minutes. Now.” Henry nodded and was gone with a flash of green sparks.

Molly Weasley immediately turned to her husband and dissolved into tears. She could not lose Charlie, she just couldn’t. She didn’t know exactly how bad it was, but was scared all the same. Her cursing showed. She only ever cursed when she was close to losing something, and this certainly qualified.

Arthur himself understood a little more about the gravity of the situation. His face had paled when he had learned of Era, because he knew about that dragon. He fucking knew. Charlie had shown him some pictures when he had visited that summer. One thing that Charlie had liked about her so much was her knack to read the physical health of other beings, something he found intriguing, but had told his father secretly that he thought it was the work of a tampered-with potion the witches had given to her.

He moved to the armchair next to the sofa, and gently sat his wife into it, kissing her briefly before setting his jaw and moving to the fireplace. He needed to be there to receive Charlie, and besides, there was someone he needed to contact.

-

Madam Pomfrey’s fire bloomed green as an incoming firecall came though. She had been examining Harry for the last few minutes, casting spells she thought might help. She had been getting increasingly worried over his state; he had been brought in by the entire Gryffindor quidditch team, all tear-stained faces and worried expressions. His life force had been draining steadily, but a strong stasis on Pomfrey’s end slowed it down significantly.

His body had been in remarkably good condition, the only thing to note was the injuries from his fall. But most odd, however, was his mental condition. His neurons were scattering, jumping all over the place, criss-crossing and making random connections. Sections of his brain were being called on, with no rhyme or reason, causing his limbs to sometimes to twitch and his memories to spike, recalling certain ones. Of course, Harry wasn’t conscious to witness any of this.

No, she had a very bad feeling about this indeed. 

She bit her lip. Quickly sending an urgent patronus to the headmaster and casting one last anxious look at Harry Potter, she waved through the call and knelt before the fire. 

Noting the haggard face of Mr. Weasley, she immediately turned professional and asked in a brisk voice, “What is it, Arthur?”

He swallowed. “I know you don’t usually make house calls, but something’s wrong with Charlie. The healers at the reserve haven’t a clue about the problem, and we were hoping you could examine him.” Uncharacteristic tears appeared at the corners of his eyes. “They say life is draining right out of him.”

She drew in a sharp breath at his last word, but made an uneasy connection. “There’s something else too, Arthur. Harry Potter was admitted to my infirmary not five minutes ago. He shows symptoms of a coma, but his neural activity shows otherwise. Have a healer run diagnostics over Charlie’s brain patterns and see if they are out of control, and have him put the strongest stasis possible. I fear the attacks are linked.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Would you like to come visit Harry, one parent per patient? Would you like me to take him to St. Mungo’s and come to Charlie? What do you need, Mr. Weasley?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “Just bring him to the Burrow too. We’ll figure it out. I think it’s better if you’re here for both of them.” He bit his lip and clenched his jaw. “Hurry.”

Charlie was brought through five minutes later, after the additional tests had been run. The healer at the reserve reported what Madam Pomfrey had suspected, and had Mai cast the strongest stasis she could.

Charlie had barely been set on the couch before Harry came through the floo, cradled in Dumbledore’s arms, who set him on another couch which had been placed close to Charlie’s so Madam Pomfrey could easily stand between and reach both boys.

Madam Pomfrey came through next, followed by the rest of the Weasleys, even Bill, who must have been called. They all stood against the back wall, huddling close, save for the man with the long white beard and the woman with the Hogwarts healer robes.

They conversed quietly.

-

Dumbledore thought for a moment, before telling Madam Pomfrey he was going to reset the stasis charms to make them even more powerful. She nodded, and removed them, gesturing him to cast.

After he did, he looked at them for a long time, before hurling spells at them, while softly discussing theories with Poppy.

And then he knew. The patterns were all there. The reason the dragon didn’t sense it. The timing. The two boys. 

“Poppy, I am going to do something drastic,” he told her calmly. “I need you to step back. I promise I’ll explain after. To all of you. But after.”

The Weasleys and Madam Pomfrey nodded resolutely.

Undoing the stasis charms, he lifted Harry’s small body easily up from the couch and placed him on top of Charlie’s unconscious form. They fit together perfectly, Harry’s hand gently tangling with Charlie’s, their legs slotting together, Harry’s face buried into Charlie’s neck.

Harry took a stuttering breath as soon as he touched Charlie.

Charlie’s eyes fluttered open.

-

Molly Weasley was sure she was about to lose Charlie. But then Poppy had called in with Harry, and she nearly broke down. Losing one son may have been manageable. But two? Absolutely not. She would simply not permit it.

Dumbledore and Poppy had arrived with him, and they were talking softly as Dumbledore threw spells at the boys, his brow scrunched in worry and confusion. Molly sobbed into Bill’s shoulder, as the whole family hugged each other and showed their stress in different ways. 

Charlie had been a constant in all their lives, extremely caring and protective, but ready to make light of any situation.

By now Harry had become a sort of brother to everyone, or in her case, a son.

She looked at them now, their nearly dead bodies. Sunlight was filtering through a window, casting on Charlie’s shin and Harry’s knee, highlighting them.

Charlie’s hair, now about chin-length, was spread over the sofa cushion, fiery red and hiding all the freckles on the right side of his face. His mouth was slightly open, one hand hanging off the edge of the couch and the other hand laying on his thigh. He looked so peaceful, so strong.

Harry, on the other hand, was small for his age, but his wide eyes were accentuated even more without his glasses. He had long thick black eyelashes that rested on his rounded cheekbone, a delicate flush dusting them. His signature scar poked out beneath tufts of jet black hair, a single mark on this flawless boy. He looked so small, fairly drowning in the robe Poppy had given him, after removing his clothes to see his injuries from the falls. He looked peaceful too, but also delicate, like a china doll that too beautiful to be resilient.

She turned back to Bill and wailed into his shoulder again.

When she had collected herself enough to look back, Dumbledore was talking: “-plain after. To all of you. But after.” 

Confused, she looked to her husband, but he was just as mystified.

She bit her lip when Dumbledore lifted the stasis charms and then Harry, the boy’s head rolling to the side, and his mouth open slightly. 

She clenched her jaw but bit her lip even harder as Dumbledore turned slowly, to the other couch.

She watched as Harry was easily carried across the two couches, she watched as he was gently lowered onto Charlie, she watched as their bodies fit perfectly together, and she watched as Harry took a rattling breath into Charlie’s neck, and she watched as her son opened his eyes.

She tasted blood.

<><><><><><><><>

Charlie came to, intending to find out why a heavy weight had just settled on him. Whatever it was was very warm, and he could feel something soft tickling his jawline. The thing wasn’t uncomfortable at all, and he felt almost... comfortable.

He cracked his eyes open and...

Bloody hell. Why was there so much light?

Charlie shut his eyes tight and much more slowly opened them, letting the light hit his pupils a small bit at a time, before fully widening them. 

He didn’t feel quite like he was ready to move, but a small breath into his neck had him very cautiously looking down, to see…

“Charlie?” Charlie tore his eyes away from Harry Potter to look at Mrs. Weasley.

“Mum,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Where am I? Why are all of you here? Why are they here?” 

The last comment was directed to Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey who were sitting alertly on the other couch, Poppy sitting on the edge, as if ready to bolt, and Dumbledore fully sunk into the cushions but with a straight spine all the same. 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” she told him. “Professor Dumbledore probably will…” 

She looked lost and turned to the rest of her family. They closed their jaws but didn’t offer anything.

“How do you feel?” Dumbldore asked kindly, surveying him over his half-moon spectacles.

Charlie swallowed, struggling to find his proper voice. “I feel fine, but I would like some answers.”

The old man inclined his head, knowing what the first question was going to be.

“Why is Harry, er, on top of me?” Charlie asked. 

“To stop the coma your emotional state put you into.”

“Emotional state?”

Dumbledore creased his eyebrows. “Your emotions were so damaged that your brain put you into a coma to try and salvage whatever you had left.”

“Why were my emotions so damaged in the first place?”

“Yeah,” echoes Ron from the Weasley cluster. “Why’s he like this?”

“Because you spent too long outside of your soulmate’s company, because you and your soulmate weren’t connected enough, emotionally, and because you haven’t touched in so long.”

“Touched.” repeated Charlie, dazed. “And Harry helps me how…?”

Dumbledore sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, Mr. Weasley, do you remember what happened during the attack before it you lost consciousness?”

Charlie swallowed, remembering the ache of loneliness that quickly overtook his whole being. He nodded. 

“And how do you feel now?” 

Charlie didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he just surveyed the sleeping boy on top of him and pondered the question. 

Harry was sprawled facedown on top of him, and he fit onto Charlie like he was meant to be there. He had been placed high enough that his face was pressed into Charlie’s neck, breathing in gently, before breathing out in little puffs of air. It was really quite cute.

His knees came up to the middle of Charlie’s thighs, and because his hospital robe had ridden up a bit, it was all smooth contact. One of his arms was draped over Charlie’s abdomen, lying on the small space of sofa visible between Charlie’s body and own arm. His other arm’s placement, however, had Charlie breathing in sharply. 

Harry’s other arm was halfway bent at the elbow, his forearm reaching in such a way that put his hand resting lightly on top of Charlie’s. Charlie swallowed, seeing the delicate wrists and nimble fingers inside of his own strong set hand, calloused and tough from his work with dragons.

He very cautiously moved himself up the couch, causing Harry’s head to lay on his shoulder, but being careful to keep their hands together.

Charlie swallowed. Hard.

He could see the boy’s perfect little nose, his raven hair covering the scar that made him famous. He could see the faint blush, the slightly parted lips, the softly fluttering eyelids.

Charlie breathed in and out a little shakily. 

Looking down, he contemplated their touching palms. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid his hand closer to meet Harry’s completely, and twined their fingers.

He looked back to his shoulder quickly when he heard a small gasp. Harry’s startling green eyes stared back at him.

Charlie reached up a hand and ghosted it along Harry’s cheekbones.

This beautiful boy was his soulmate. A thought he could barely fathom, as if he was afraid Dumbledore could take away the status if he thought about it too hard.

He had his answer now.

Looking back at Dumbledore he said quietly, “Better than ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for sticking with me and reading this far! I will admit that the reason some of the parts in this are so emotional and/or long and descriptive is because I was listening to music while writing this, and sometimes I let myself get a little carried away.
> 
> If you'd like, i'd really appreciate comments and kudos, thank you!


	5. information for the soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some explaining and a lot of emotional disarrays. Get ready for: what happens when I listen to 80's music when I write!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the ending notes. They'll clarify a lot of stuff. 
> 
> Go follow bisexual_triangles on Instagram!

_"Life is full of confusion. Confusion of love, passion, and romance. Confusion of family and friends. Confusion with life itself. What path we take, what turns we make. How we roll our dice."_

_Matthew Underwood_

Molly Weasley numbly excepted the thin book Dumbledore offered her. 

His spindly fingers grasped the painfully slim work, which, covered in a tattered leather cover, bore the title: _Partners of Soul._

She swallowed thickly. This was all a lot. She had gotten up this morning with a quiet personal day with her husband in mind, expecting to listen to Celestina’s newest album, _Supernova Love_ , perhaps knit a little, work on her garden, and have numerous cups of tea.

Instead, two of the people she loved most in the world nearly died, but then didn’t, because they were _soulmates._

Which, if it wasn’t clear by the varied confused and stunned looks around the room, were quite rare. Which is also why the book was so slim. This sort of bonding only happened to really powerful wizards, for one, because they had the magical capacity to link their soul with another, regardless of who that was.

The first time soulmates met, the more powerful of the two would feel a sharp pain run through their frame, their body’s way of responding to their other half, so to speak.

Flipping through the book to the table of contents, Molly found that there were 173 pairs in all and that each one was explained briefly with the names of the people involved, and usually a small description of their life as soulmates.

Each entry was in very, _very_ small print, which Dumbledore explained was to cut on printing costs. 

Flipping to a page at random, Mrs Weasley read:

_1843-1844_

_Prince Otto and Prince Ludwig of Germany, found themselves to be soulmates in 1843, at the spry ages of 25, Otto, and 28, Ludwig. They coexisted happily in secret before the end of 1844, where Prince Otto, now 26, was seen leaning in and kissing Prince Ludwig by a servant, who accused him of perversions and before the year had turned Otto was declared mentally impaired and ill for being a homosexual. Ludwig married Countess Elizabeth to cover up his part because his punishment would have been execution. He died in 1846 of unwilling separation from his soulmate._

Clenching her jaw and moved further towards the beginning of the book, she flipped open the book again and came across two familiar names.

_996-999_

_Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin, two of the brightest wizards of their age, and co-founders of Scotland-located Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were declared soulmates by fellow founder Rowena Ravenclaw. Dates of death are unknown, but historians do know they were forced to split and remain single, when a new wizarding law was put in place in 999, forbidding same-sex bonding. The two wizards chose solidarity over banishment or courting a witch._

Molly, not all surprised by this, everybody knew, was now wondering whether there were any people in this list that were heterosexual, looked through the book and found that yes, there were, but they were less common than the alternative.

Although feeling slightly sick from the two passages' gruesome endings, she forged on, searching for a specific name.

“I’m not in there,” Albus Dumbledore told her gently as if reading her thoughts. “I indeed have- _had_ \- a soulmate, but I’m not in there,” he said again, his careful tone not broking room for any thoughts on her end.

She nodded, and put the book back on the table, sliding to the front of her chair as she did, as if ready to bolt if necessary.

Her husband sat on her left, a hand resting on her thigh possessively, a solid constant in the situation that was anything but. The two boys were still lying on the sofa but in a more cautious position. They were still holding hands, and Harry still had his head against in Charlie’s neck, his scruffy hair brushing Charlie’s jaw. But Charlie was focusing with rapt attention to the conversation Mr and Mrs Weasley, Dumbledore, and Madam Pomfrey were having.

Harry was talking to Ron, who, on the floor, was smiling and laughing and turn, though there was the sort of tension the unknown brought hanging around the two. 

The other Weasleys, who had been brought from the school with Harry and, in Bill’s case, work, were dotted along the walls, sitting on anything they could. The twins perched on the laundry, talking softly to Ginny, who was on an upturned wicker basket. 

Bill looked on, listening to the discussion like Charlie, with Percy uncharacteristically showing vulnerability and leaning into his side.

This was her family. She wasn’t sure of what was going to happen, no one ever really knew in these cases, but she already knew this would be different for all of them. She was happy, she was, but she also knew that the bonding, even though it had been out of their control and would have happened anyway or they would have died, had put them in grave danger. 

Their soul marks would be showing soon, a small tattoo on the skin that formed from the bond’s magic, dark black, in the shape of an animal, and extremely coveted. People would carve the mark off of someone else’s body and use them for their incredible magical properties.

She knew they would do everything to protect them, although there wasn’t much to be worried about. They weren’t planning to tell many people of the boys’ predicament, and it had been so long since the last pairing, which had been Albus and Gellert. 

Once again, she felt drawn to the mystery of why they weren’t in the book. It had been abridged only ten years ago, long after their legendary romance. But as she remembered the tone in his voice when he had told her of his absence in the book, she decided not to push it. 

Forcing herself to focus, she found Arthur in a deep discussion with Poppy, seemingly talking about the two boy’s health, and ways they could make sure the whole almost dying thing didn’t happen again. 

Dumbledore simply stared out the window, a serene expression on his weathered features. Fishing one of her many questions out of her brain, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, and when he turned and lifted a single pale eyebrow, asked, “will they automatically love each other? Do we need to do anything?”

Albus surveyed her over his half-moon spectacles; sun glinting off of them.

“Everything that has to do with their relationship has everything to do with them. However, I do think they’ve already leapt in the right direction.”

At her confused expression, he sighed.

“It's true that them collapsing had to do with their distance apart, but it wouldn’t have happened so quickly if they hadn’t had tension between them. I could, of course, be wrong, but can you recall anything major that happened that might have jeopardized their relationship?”

“Well…” she said slowly, flashes of Charlie’s infuriated expression and the shocked and teary face of Harry flickering through her brain, “something happened the day before Charlie left-back to Romania. I- I’m not sure what happened exactly, but it was bad. You’ll have to ask Charlie if you would like to know.”

Dumbledore nodded. 

“Alright. I’ll make sure to speak with him. Is there anything else troubling your mind, Mrs Weasley?” 

“I do want to know one thing,” she said tentatively. “I’ve always thought that Charlie… was more interested in dragons than humans,” she whispered, so the boys listening in didn't hear.

Albus crooked an eyebrow again and smiled faintly. 

“I have to confess, I’m not sure how he stands by that. If you would like to know, I suggest you talk to Mr Charlie Weasley, as by now I am sure he will have a better idea.”

Molly nodded, feeling better.

“Is that all?” Dumbledore finally asked, looking at her kindly. At her nod and grateful smile, he stood, gently touching Madam Pomfrey’s shoulder and pulling a piece of parchment from one of the pockets in his robe. He tucked the book of soulmate history away and fished a quill out from the same pocket. 

“If you have any inquisitions, please write them on the parchment. I will be in touch shortly should need to arise.”

Molly and Arthur nodded, looking back at Bill and Percy, who both smiled, although they were quite back.

Professor Dumbledore walked over to Charlie and Harry.

“Mr Potter, I do hate to disrupt you, but if I could borrow Charlie for a moment of time, that would be much appreciated.”

“Er, okay,” he said, trying valiantly to heave himself off of Charlie’s body. Clearing his throat and collecting what dignity he had left, he looked to Charlie. The other boy threw him a lopsided smile that made Harry’s heart race a little, but all the same, wrapped an arm around him so he could sit up without unseating him. 

“Go on then,” Charlie huffed in mock annoyance. “You’re heavy.”

Harry smiled tightly and went to where the twins were playing chess against Ron.

“Need a partner?” he asked, hating how his voice wavered from his emotional state.

“Oh blimey. If I knew you were gonna offer I would have forfeited,” Ron joked. But his face was weary too. It had been a long afternoon for all of them. 

* * *

Charlie leaned against the door frame of Ron’s bedroom (the second-highest room in the house besides the attic, and therefore a place they would less likely be heard in), fighting a raging blush at what the old man in front of him was saying.

“-But I’m sure you’ve already figured your preferences.”

“No, not really,” Charlie admitted slowly. As mortified as he was to be talking to his old headmaster about his sex life, he supposed it had to be done. 

“Why do you say you’re not sure?” Dumbledore inquired, his piercing blue eyes staring the other boy down.

“I always thought I didn’t like anybody. I mean, I just don’t know. I’m sure that I don’t want to have any sexual relations of any kind, but then again, I also never thought I would have a relationship at all.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“Did you feel anything for Harry when you were seeing him regularly?”

Charlie thought for a moment, running through what thoughts and emotions for Harry he had during those days. Surprised at what he found, his brow furrowed.

“Yes?” Dumbledore inquired.

“Well… I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I was sort of… infatuated,” Charlie mumbled, blushing. “But for him even more. He… did something. And I’m afraid that was the end of it for me. Until now, I suppose,” he conceded.

“I see,” Dumbledore said. “And do you mind telling me what that incident was? Depending on how strong the emotional damage was for you both, it may have caused your collapses.”

Charlie straightened from his position on the doorframe and tilted his jaw up. His squared his shoulders back and looked at the other man head-on. He hated how his eyes wavered a bit, and how he felt a tight, searing hot pressure behind them.

He wasn’t in any way proud of this.

“He kissed me,” he finally whispered. The other man didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue. Charlie fought the urge to look away. 

“We were just fooling around, and he suddenly looked at me and just... went and bloody kissed me.” He took a shuddering breath. “I pushed him, rather hard I suppose, and flew out of the room and planned to leave that night without anyone noticing. But I saw him that night, and told him I wasn’t- I wasn’t mad, but I think the damage had been done.”

“I understand,” Dumbledore finally said. “I do believe that would have been scarring enough to open both of your… minds, which resulted in our current state. As you’ve heard from my conversation with Mrs Weasley, this would have sped things up _considerably._

“Now, if that’s all, we have the matter of marks to discuss, which I believe Mr William Weasley can explain better than I could, but before you leave there is one more thing you should know about.”

Charlie nodded, and relaxed a little from his rigid position, going to lean against the doorframe again.

“What am I about to tell you should be kept from Mr Potter until you deem him ready to know, but in the rare case this does happen, I should like you, at least, to be informed.”

The usually twinkling eyes became solemn, weighing down the man with more age than Charlie had ever seen on him. Charlie tensed again.

“You may have noticed that Grindelwald and I do not advertise the fact that we were soulmates…”

He continued into a speech that left Charlie struggling for breath, the weight of the words: _were soulmates_ settling upon them, as stifling and humid as the inside of a glass jar.

It wouldn’t be long until the jar, and him, cracked.

* * *

That night, Molly Weasley gave them two choices: they either sleep in their beds from the night before, or they sleep together. Charlie looked over at Harry then and attempted to cover his amused snort with a cough at the younger boy’s expression. He looked simultaneously surprised, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility, and scared, but for what, Charlie didn’t know.

Laughing a little, Charlie ground out, “Cripes, Harry. Didn’t know you felt this way about me, you’ve wounded me.”

“No-!” Harry started, eyes blown wide.

“No, really,” said Charlie, really laughing now, “you can sleep in your bed tonight, and we’ll see about tomorrow, yeah?” He lifted an eyebrow suggestively. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs Weasley said exasperatedly. “Charlie, stop tormenting him. Harry, you’re free to do whatever you feel most comfortable with. I’m sure he’ll be fine with anything, _won’t you_ , Charles?”

Charlie looked slightly alarmed at the change of tone, but nodded anyway, sobering up a bit as he looked back at Harry.

Harry swallowed once, and very timidly whispered, “CanIsleepwithCharliepleaseMrs.Weasley?”

“Harry, dear, you’re going to have to speak a little bit louder,” she told him gently.

The boy turned a frightening shade of crimson and looked down at his feet, still covered in the plain black quidditch socks that Madame Pomfrey didn’t have time to remove when she had changed him into a plain hospital robe.

“If I could- er, that is, sleep with Charlie, that would be much appreciated. Please,” he added as an afterthought.

This was too much for Charlie. Ducking out of the kitchen, he exploded into peals of laughter, clutching Bill’s shoulder, who just happened to be sitting at the dining table.

“Bill,” he gasped, “ _Bill. I can’t do this, I can’t,_ ” he wheezed. He doubled over again, clutched by laughter.

“What are you on about?” Bill exclaimed, grabbing his brother’s elbow. 

“It’s Harry!” Charlie gasped. He knew he was vastly overreacting, but the stress and pain and confusion of the day was beginning to get to him. He knew he had probably hurt Harry’s feelings, and botched his chances of getting Harry to trust him quickly, but he couldn’t stop. The laughter clutched him in a vice-like grip even as he slid to the floor, weakly grabbing Bill’s trouser leg.

His chuckles faded once they began to border on hysteria, and he finally stopped, his breath becoming patchy from hiccoughs. 

Bill reached down, concerned, and wiped tears Charlie didn't know he was leaking off his cheekbones. 

“Charlie,” he said gently, “get the fuck off the floor and tell me why you just had a mental breakdown, yeah?”

Charlie laughed once more. It came out rather watery. He heaved himself off his feet, grateful to Bill for not offering a hand. His dignity had been wounded enough for one evening.

Once Charlie had collected himself and sat down at the table, only then did Bill give him a slightly dangerous look. 

Staring him down, he gave him no chance to speak as he jumped directly into what he had wanted to say All. Bloody. Day. 

“This may make more bloody sense to you than it does to me, but I’ll tell you what we saw. We saw two boys, both our sons and brothers, nearly kick it,” here his voice got slightly murderous but also began to shake. “They came in, half-dead, got announced _soulmates_ , and one of them, the one sitting right in front of me, I might add, just had a slightly hysterical laughing fit for seemingly no reason.

“So why,” he paused here to slam a hand down on the table rather forcefully, “do I not have _answers?_ ”

Charlie stilled, running all this through his head in the span of seconds. To him, the whole ordeal seemed like a particularly bad dream. It was quick, it was over, and it wasn’t physically damaging. But it was. Maybe not damaging to him, but the close to breaking Bill in front of him was feeling different. He wondered what it really would have been like, watching the whole scene as if from afar, while knowing nothing.

He hadn’t thought of how it would have looked to the outsider, his and Harry’s lifeless bodies, powerful witches and wizards hovering over them as if something was very wrong. 

Bill had nearly snapped from this, and he had no idea whether the rest of them would, too. But somehow he thought not. Out of all the Weasleys, Bill was just a teenier bit closer to him than any others. Whenever something happened to him, Bill was always the first to drop everything and rush to help. Charlie was the same way for him.

For the first time, he considered what it would have been like watching the whole thing -not from just anybody’s perspective, but _Bill’s_ \- and felt a little bit of him crumble into jagged pieces. 

“I’m sorry,” Charlie murmured. Bill raised a single eyebrow, demanding more.

“What would you like to know?” he started. Bill gazed at him a moment before speaking.

“Why did you tell me you were asexual when you weren’t?”

Charlie recoiled. Why did they keep fucking _asking_ that? “Oh, I was not expecting that. Er,” he scratched his head. “Let’s see. Well at the time I told you, I believed I was. However, I think Harry changed that. I don’t- I don’t know if I ever want to have sex, but… I suppose now it's a… possibility?”

Bill was the one this time to throw his head back and laugh, quite startling Charlie, who was grimacing at his own feeble words.

“You’ve told me, haven’t you,” Bill chuckled.

Charlie blushed. “You did ask me!” he protested.

“Yeah, alright, alright. I’m going to be honest with you, that little statement I just made was mostly for my frustration form earlier. Dumbledore explained to all of us everything, while you were stewing in that room after he talked to you. That was my only question.”

“Wanker,” Charlie muttered.

Bill just shrugged. “Now, I believe we need to talk about marks?”

* * *

“Of course you can sleep with Charlie, dear. I don’t think he was laughing at you, I just think this day has been a bit much for him, for all of us, actually,” Molly Weasley assured the small boy in front of her. 

“Okay,” he mumbled.

“Here, why don’t we set up the room for you? Bill’s going back to Egypt tonight, so it’ll be just you two. Go along and get your stuff, dear, and I’ll bring some bedclothes.”

Harry nodded and scampered as far around the dining table as he possibly could, making sure Bill and Charlie didn’t see him.

Standing in Charlie’s bedroom, he could immediately tell which side of the bedroom was his. Hung up on one wall was a faded and slightly tattered Gryffindor banner. The crimson and gold colouring had mostly gone, but the stitching was still in good shape, and scribbled signatures adorned the edges. 

Across another stretch of the wall, magazine clippings of dragons, newspaper articles about dragons, hand-drawn sketches of dragons, dragons, dragons, dragons were hung up and pasted with spello tape. And was that… yes! The pictures Charlie had shown him in the kitchen were pasted as well, bright streaks of colour among the black and white of newspaper clippings and faded hues of dragon illustrations.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he quickly strode across the room and ran his fingers along the curve of the young hatchling’s wings. The dragon twisted around and sneezed, tiny tendrils of smoke curling in the picture under Harry’s index finger. He giggled.

On the night table, a beat-up snitch still fluttered its wings softly, lit up a rusty gold from the light pouring through a window. Harry recognized it as the snitch they had used to play with during the summer hols.

Just then, Mrs Weasley came through the door, a pile of bedclothes and blankets in her arms. Harry took the soft fabric from her and made his bed, ignoring her protests of helping him. 

Little did he know, Harry was giving Molly a lot more than just a little bit of help.

* * *

Bill huffed down onto one of the sofa cushions, scrubbing a hand through his long red hair. “Right. Marks.”

Meanwhile, Charlie was inwardly panicking at the small sliver of space between him and Harry. They were seated on the couch directly opposite from Bill, and barely two centimetres separated their thighs. At the slightest moment, he might accidentally brush his leg against Harry’s, and the thought kept him tenser than a frozen elastic. He nearly missed Bill’s next words.

“When you get your marks, you’ll be able to feel hints of emotion from each other. You’ll only really feel each other’s moods when they’re really strong: anger, sadness, happiness, etcetera. 

“You won’t be able to feel each other’s wounds or physical feelings like hunger, or thirst. The only physical thing you’ll be able to feel from one another is… death.” He swallowed and looked away. 

“Wizards are going to be after your marks. Keep them covered, unless they’re in an always clothed spot. They contain powerful magic and are crucial ingredients in many illegal potions. We do not plan to let your bonding out to the public, but if it does get leaked, then we’ll have to cover them at all times and take more extreme measures just in case.”

Bill droned on, explaining that the marks would look like animals and be able to move around freely on the one spot on their skin, sort of like a magical tattoo, and that they would be inky black. They would only appear when Charlie and Harry were fully in love (they all shifted uncomfortably at that), and that they understood and responded to human speech, but could not talk.

Harry didn’t hear any of this. He found out from Charlie later. Instead, his mind circled the words in his head. The implied words of people, bad people, wanting their marks for potions. The way Bill tensed his jaw when he was explaining that. His imagination running haywire over what the actual lengths these people would go to were. Visions of knives and the bright colourful flashes of curse spells swam in front of his eyes, dizzying him. 

Being able to feel when one another died gave him the shivers too. Just the thought of Charlie’s death made Harry’s stomach twist and a wave of nausea well up within it. He may not have been in love with Charlie, but the other boy was quickly becoming the most important person in Harry’s life. Losing him, even now, would be devastating. 

Charlie, noticing the other boy pale and clammy all the sudden, immediately picked up his brain and rooted through it, trying to determine what was wrong. 

He sat in contemplation, but couldn’t quite pinpoint one moment in the conversation when it was really bad. There were implications, sure, but he wasn’t sure whether Harry picked up fully on them. He also didn’t just want to comfort him. They were sort of on shaky ground after everything that happened. 

But then, a new thought process tumbled through his head:

_Screw it._

So he did. He turned to the smaller boy, ignoring Harry’s widening eyes, and bodily lifted the smaller boy into his arms, wrapping him in layers of muscle and warmth. Harry’s hair tickled his nose, filthy from quidditch. His glasses, returned to his face, or perhaps he had had them on when he was brought to the Burrow, Charlie didn’t know, poked into his jaw. But his eyes behind them, those glittering emerald eyes, fluttered softly shut, and he relaxed.

Charlie hugged him tighter, wanting Harry to forget every bad conversation he’d had that day, everything he had heard.

As if Charlie could protect himself from his own demons too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things that I need to address: I am going to start making Harry way more small and childish because it makes some aspects of this story better if I do say so myself, and I also like the idea of Charlie just completely being able to comfort Harry (at least until Harry is older)
> 
> Some things that I’m going to clarify if you’re confused: 
> 
> Charlie has no idea where he stands on the whole relationship/sex thing. He thought he was asexual, but then he met Harry, so know he doesn’t really know where he stands. Lemon may or may not happen but we’ll see. Nothing bad until they are of age.
> 
> This is going to be sort of slow going and HOLY FUCK AM I EXCITED FOR THE NINTH CHAPTER AHHHHH.
> 
> You will find out what Dumbledore told Charlie soon, in the ninth chapter hee hee.
> 
> I’m going to start straying away from the plotline. I think that I’m going to try to make Harry experience a lot of the stuff and eventually defeat Voldemort, but I have no idea how I’m going to make this happen so oh well. I will confess, a lot of this Charlie is going to be left in the dark about.
> 
> Also, everybody sort of forgot about the flying car. Just to be clear, Mrs Weasley sends them both a howler but Charlie doesn't know.
> 
> Last thing: go follow bisexual_triangles on Instagram for saucy bisexual memes. The account is my little cousin’s, and they’re trying to get started. Go support them!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are open- plot twists/ ideas for scenes? please share. i have the writing ability and creativity of a frog.


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